Mediocrity

Something about a blank page scares the crap out of me, as the groundbreaking ideas and funny stories fall by the wayside to a blank page. I neither feel capable to write anything worthwhile or creative. And if all I can create and write is something mediocre about uninteresting events, why do it anyway?

I don't really call it writer's block as much as I call it a fear of being like...well you. Whether if it's a poem, essay, or a blog post, I must hold my own attention, but too often, my own writing are as interesting as CSPAN. I was never a fan of reading, so for the sake of humanity, I cannot subject my readers to the same pain.

But now that I have successfully not posted for a solid two weeks or so, I am sure that there have been less readers of my blog, so that this post is essentially written to no one but myself and the single man 300 miles away from me who is surfing through blogs.

I have no realization to reveal, no sin to confess to, or a girl to complain about. I simply come back to the blog world from a vacation in the real world reporting that in the midst of my mundane life, I find it romantic and beautiful. I find sneezing in allergy season an epic battle between myself and nature. I find online poker as stimulating as sex, or at least I make the same faces that porn stars do when I win. I love seeing my name in articles of the school newspaper though few people read it and those who do, do not seem to care. I like arguing with my friends, choosing not to talk to others, and walking through everything in between.

And like any good movie, I have forgotten to do everything else except to bask in the story. I have stopped analyzing my life in specific details as to report it in a 10 page research paper to post on this blog, and began to start living. But that is not to say I have retired from writing, but all the more, have found the importance of it. For in these scribbles on a webpage, I am beginning to understand the importance of memory in these writings, where I can come back to this time and remember when life doesn't have to be perfect neither destructing to be written about and celebrated.

When I think back on my life, the picture stamped in my memory of my mother cooking pork chops on a Saturday afternoon as I tiptoe above the kitchen counter was mundane and boring at the moment, but now, has become a reason, if not the essence of the smile that I hold now. So I raise my glass and say a toast to a mundane life and mediocre writings where the celebration of life nevertheless exists and makes possible for memories to hold its place as well. For it is in the act of remembrance that we make the events great.